


Sex and Violence (One is Like the Other)

by misura



Category: The Mechanic (2011)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Gunplay, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The only bad thing about the firing range is that it's completely safe, and utterly fake.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Violence (One is Like the Other)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Steve & or / Bishop, firing range_ (na_lewo_patrz)

Family, Steve thinks, is escapable. People who say it isn't - people who say you can choose your friends but that you can't choose your family just don't know shit.

Steve should know; he's spent a hell of a lot of time getting away from the whole thing - all the medals and heroic pictures of old men in uniforms and _expectations_. His dad's in a wheelchair; Steve knows that real, actual heroism looks like and (more importantly) where it will get you.

Steve hasn't got the least desire to be the follow-up to that particular act.

He likes guns and he likes girls and he likes to put the two together, on occasion, even if that doesn't always end well. He likes guys, too, on occasion; the sound they make when they know he's beaten them, when they know he's stronger, meaner than they are.

Sex is sex; as long as it gets him off, Steve's all right with it, and fuck anyone who thinks differently.

So maybe he isn't living any sort of perfect life, on the fast track to, if not fame and glory, then at least to making a decent living, with a steady job. It's his life, and he's living it. He figures there's plenty of time left to pick up the phone and call Dad, to say _'fuck you and your ideas of what my future should look like - I'm doing what_ I _want'_.

Except that then, all of a sudden, there isn't any time anymore to tell Dad anything at all.

Life's a bitch, Steve reckons. Life's a bitch, and then someone kills your dad, and then you're almost stupid enough to lose track of the one guy who might help you get even.

 

Steve isn't quite sure why he turns Bishop down at first - call it 'pride', maybe. Call it 'envy', and admit it's justified. Bishop doesn't call it anything, doesn't come out and say: _'your father taught me everything I know'_ , but then, he doesn't really have to. Steve knows it's true.

He expected there to be memories, maybe; to be reminded of Dad all the time when he's with Bishop, only it doesn't happen like that at all. Bishop's cynical, practical and (very rarely) dryly humorous.

Bishop's muscled, fit and capable of taking down Steve in a fight, when he's distracted.

It only takes Steve half a week to decide he wants to fuck Bishop - and another two days to realize that he wouldn't terribly mind it happening the other way around, either.

 

The only bad thing about the firing range is that it's completely safe, and utterly fake.

Steve'll admit that sure, he gets a kick out of the whole thing - for the first ten seconds or so, maybe. After that, it's just practice; shooting bullets at targets that aren't going to move or shoot back or fall on their knees, begging _'yes, I killed your father; yes, with that gun; no, please don't kill me, please'_ (but he will, of course he will).

"You really need to work on those anger issues of yours," Bishop says, because he's a cold bastard.

"Why?" Steve asks, just to try and piss Bishop off a little. He's not sure where it's come from, this desire to see Bishop lose his cool (all right, scratch that, he knows _exactly_ where it comes from) but he figures that with one thing and another, there's no reason not to ride it out, see where it gets him.

Bishop ought to be pleased, Steve thinks, firing off another couple of bullets to kill the poor paper guy deader than dead.

Less than a week ago, Steve only had one goal in life, and now here he is, having two - and one's got nothing to do with anger issues, being purely about getting into someone's pants.

"They're counter productive," Bishop says. "In this line of work, those kinds of emotions just get in the way."

Steve wonders if 'pure animal lust' comes in under the header of 'those kinds of emotions', too. If not, it's probably because Bishop simply isn't familiar with the concept.

"So, what? Am I doing great, or am I doing great?" Dad was never much for the compliments, and Bishop ain't exactly overflowing with the praise either, but what Steve told him at the beginning of this still holds. Bishop _owes_ Steve.

And maybe he doesn't quite owe Steve a wild night of sex and violence, but Steve reckons he still deserves to get that sooner or later anyway. It'll be good, he thinks.

Before Bishop, it was always girls or guys who might as well have been girls, for all the balls they had, chickening out just when things were getting a bit interesting. And Steve still hasn't got Bishop quite figured out yet, but he knows the man isn't going to chicken out of anything just because of a bit of blood or pain.

"You're doing okay," Bishop says. His tone is casual, dismissive, but there's something warm and proud in his expression that makes Steve want to shove his lovely, lovely gun under Bishop's chin and demand the man gets down on his knees, right here, right now, to suck him off.

(The last guy Steve did that to - with a far less lovely gun, he might add, the last guy wasn't much of a success. Lots of slobbering, and all in all, Steve'd have to call it a waste of time and effort, really.)

"Great," Steve says, looking at Bishop's mouth. The corners curve, slightly, for the briefest of moments.

It's nice to know Bishop's got emotions, too, even if all of them are understated, suppressed, hidden away. Steve imagines what Bishop might look like if he lets loose, stops being so damn careful and aloof for a moment.

"Tomorrow, same place, same time," Bishop says. There's a click as he switches the safety back on his own gun, and it's saying something, Steve thinks, that the sound seems to go straight to his cock, like he's never heard someone put the safety back on before.

(It's stupid, too; the sound of Bishop taking the safety _off_ , yes, all right. That's practically foreplay, after all. But getting a boner from the sound of Bishop putting it back on is just pathetic.)

"You got it," Steve says, watching Bishop's back as he walks away, and the way his jeans aren't even a little bit too tight - they fit around his ass just perfect.

 _Next time_ , he promises himself. _Next time._


End file.
